


flower girl, buried in my past

by ordinarylittleme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinarylittleme/pseuds/ordinarylittleme





	flower girl, buried in my past

Lily. Sweet little Lily. Tom had enjoyed plucking the petals off flowers in his youth, watching them wilt and crumple up as they drifted to the ground. She had been like her namesake, soft and delicate and pretty. Her jaw fit perfectly between his fingers as he'd forced her to look at him before he killed her. Those glittering green eyes, emeralds and jade and malachite and aventurine, had blazed for just a second before turning dull. Forever.

Those green eyes had had an enigma wrapped around a mystery wrapped around a conundrum wrapped around a maze wrapped around a puzzle contained within its infinite depths, daring even the most intelligent to try to successfully unravel her. Tom was very, very smart but he lacked patience. So he cut through all the strings and declared himself the winner. For lilies do not have thorns and could not bite back at him, instead they could only stay pure as fresh winter snow. Innocent and untouched and pristine. The prettiest flowers were always the ones plucked first.

But Lily Evans was not the frail damsel in distress she loved pretending to be. She had screamed and clawed and dueled him until he blasted her wand into smithereens and still she used her fists and nails and legs. Cruel smirk twisting his handsome features, he told her of her husband's untimely fate and she'd spat at him. Those peculiarly green orbs assumed a piercing air as they flashed at him, her body moving to shield the one of the child.

Motherly love. The exact love he had never understood, and would never understand. How women could just abandon themselves for the sake of a young child who would never fully appreciate it. She sobbed and begged and he'd wondered, idly, if flowers liked being flowers. Did she like being named Lily? The flower that he had tugged from grasslands as a boy, watching their beauty slowly fade as they died. She was filth, yet named after purity. How ironic.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "


End file.
